we are not broken things
by splendidlyimperfect
Summary: Sting lets Natsu see his scars, and Natsu show him that he's not as broken as he feels.


_TW for references to past self-harm_

* * *

_"We are not broken things, neither of us. We are cracked pottery mended with lacquer and flakes of gold, whole as we are, complete unto each other. Complete and worthy and so very loved."_  
_-Mackenzie Lee, Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue_

* * *

Natsu is the first person to see Sting's scars.

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon and they're kissing on the bed, giggling and touching each other gently. The sun spills through the curtain, lighting up Natsu's dark brown skin with a gentle glow. Sting sighs happily, running his fingers through Natsu's hair as they kiss.

Then Natsu's hand slips up under Sting's shirt and Sting tenses. Natsu immediately pulls back, brow creasing in concern.

"What's up?" he asks, moving his hand up to brush Sting's hair out of his eyes instead. His fingers trace a gentle path across the scar on Sting's forehead.

"'s nothing," Sting says, but the words are edged with uncertainty, and he won't look Natsu in the eye.

"Hey." Natsu runs his thumb across Sting's cheek and nudges his chin up until their eyes finally meet. "It is something. What's wrong?"

Sting reaches up and covers Natsu's hand with his own, turning to press a kiss to the palm of Natsu's hand. His eyes trace the chaotic mess of scars down the inside of Natsu's forearms, and when he feels Natsu tense, he shakes his head.

"No, it's not…." Sting squeezes Natsu's hand and presses a soft kiss to Natsu's cheek. "You know that's not it."

Sting runs his hands down Natsu's arms, touching each mark – especially the thick ones across Natsu's wrists. They'd talked about Natsu's scars the first time they'd met, and Natsu had been brave and honest about them in a way Sting hasn't ever been able to be. Even under the summer stars with bubbles in his stomach and fireworks under his skin, he'd never been able to say, _me too, I know, I understand. _

But now… he doesn't have a choice.

"Babe, what's going on?" Natsu asks gently. He shifts back until he's leaning against the headboard, Sting still straddling his hips, and runs one hand down Sting's arm. "Do you wanna stop?"

Sting shakes his head quickly. "No," he insists, bringing Natsu's hand back down to his hip, where his thumb had been tracing gentle circles before. Natsu's hands are warm against Sting's skin and Sting shifts closer, pressing their foreheads together. "I've just got scars too," he says.

Natsu frowns. "I know," he says, eyes dropping to Sting's chest and the scars from his surgery. Those are good scars. Happy ones, because they meant that Sting could finally be the man he'd always known he was.

But those aren't the scars Sting means. He can see confusion and uncertainty in the green of Natsu's eyes, and he sighs. "Different ones," he says softly, then reaches down and tugs his shirt over his head.

It takes a while for him to open his eyes. When he rests his palm on Natsu's chest, he can feel Natsu's heart fluttering under his fingertips, matching his own terrified rhythm.

"Can I touch?" Natsu asks eventually, and Sting peeks down at him. His eyes are wide and soft, and there's a tiny hint of a smile on his lips as he rubs his thumbs across Sting's hips. Sting nods slowly, letting out a quiet breath as Natsu shifts beneath him.

Sting expects Natsu to touch the most obvious scars, but instead Natsu runs his fingers across Sting's stomach, tracing the stretch marks that spread there from growing too wrong and too quick. Then he brings one hand to the small of Sting's back, pulling him close as he slides his other hand up and touches his fingertips to the thin, white scars across Sting's chest.

"I'm sorry," Natsu murmurs, pressing his forehead to Sting's as he draws gentle lines between the moments of Sting's pain. "I can't imagine how you felt." A shiver runs through Sting at the sensation. Thin, hopeless memories of sharp edges and blood and tears and _hatehatehate_ are replaced by a loving ache as Natsu touches each of the scars.

"You're gorgeous," Natsu breathes. Sting's breath hitches as Natsu pulls him in for a kiss, soft and sweet as he brings love to the places that Sting has always hated.

Sting kisses back desperately, not bothering to push away the tears, just letting them fall as he falls more in love with Natsu. He runs his fingers through Natsu's hair, caressing him and breathing him in as Natsu's fingers trace constellations between Sting's scars.

Sting shifts in Natsu's lap, letting out a stuttered breath as they move against each other. He pulls back just long enough to tug off Natsu's shirt and toss it to the ground, then runs his hand down Natsu's chest, up his sides, around to the back of his neck to hold him close.

Natsu makes soft, contented sounds against Sting's neck as he kisses the soft spot there, then nudges Sting back just enough that he can press a kiss to the scar just below Sting's collarbone.

Something shifts in Sting's chest. A heaviness, an ache that Sting's carried around for so, so long melts under the gentle press of Natsu's lips. His hands are on Sting's hips, rocking them together, and he kisses every scar – every memory of hating and hurting and crying alone.

_I love you, _the kisses say. _You're beautiful. You're whole. You're mine. _

Sting feels warm tears on his cheeks as Natsu keeps kissing him, keeps touching him in ways that make him feel wanted and alive. When they both finally release, whispering each others' names against sweaty skin, Sting's feels like he's glowing, like tiny sparks are bursting everywhere inside of him and lighting him up from the inside out.

Sting has always thought he was damaged – broken pieces that didn't quite fit together. But Natsu sees something else. Sting isn't broken, to him. Sting's just a puzzle, a series of moments and words and hurts and scars that are slowly coming together under Natsu's fingertips.

"You okay?" Natsu asks, voice rough and tickling Sting's skin. Sting laughs, nodding and pressing a kiss to the top of Natsu's head.

"Yeah," he says softly, shifting until they're lying on the bed, facing each other and holding their clasped hands between them. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Natsu murmurs, swallowing down a yawn that's threatening to escape. "I love you. All of you."

As Natsu falls asleep, Sting runs a finger across the bridge of his nose, tracing the freckles that dot his skin. Then he looks down at the scars on his chest and gently touches one, running his fingers to the next, then the next and the next. Drawing constellations between them, making new stories.

A warm sense of contentment settles in his chest, and he sighs happily, curling up and tucking his head under Natsu's chin. Sting is complicated and mixed up, but Natsu's slowly connecting the dots to make him feel whole again.


End file.
